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Thursday, May 27, 2010

May 28th - Poem #7 - Michael O'Leary

For my father in prison, 1965

Doing time
                        my father would have needed time to do this
To build a table
                        made from matchsticks, our only family heirloom
Matchstick upon
matchstick held together with some kind of glue
Just like the
                        brick building which held him
Yes, that’s it
                        stone upon black stone which kept him captive
He entered through
                        the heavy, bolted steel door they held open
And when he emerged
                        he had a matchstick table and was very quiet
Each matchstick
                        represented a fragment of his life
Each fragment
                        was there outside him, set in glue, and he was a shell 

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